Who, in the world, does this guy think- he- is!????

A work in progress….Like most…. 🙂

An old work at that. With likely only a few lug-nuts left.

A mad hatter. The maddest of hatters.

Any questions? Or ideas for contemplative thought? Leave a note!

Muhahahahah…

Tks

I figure life is like lug nuts on a cars wheel. You get a certain amount of them to hold the tire on. 6, 7, 8. But that’s it. Over time one will work its way loose, fly off never to return. But, you still have say 6 left and they’re holding the tire on tight, still. Until you hit a bump. And another vacates. And so it goes until you’ve completely eff’d up your life and you have 2 left.

Now, the wheel is still on. But a little wobbly. And life’s road is a little, well a lot less sure. Isn’t it? But if each remaining nut (2) is opposed to the other then you still have a chance. If not, you’re screwed, literally. Wheel comes off and away you go.

I think Dale has at least 4-5 lug nuts left. Only because you are a bona fide good guy and earned a few back. When your 100 we’ll talk about how many you have left, again. If I’m still here but that is a LOOONGSHOT. Watch out for the bumps…. 🙂

I think I may have 3 left and some may wish the count was one. Well….It ain’t easy being me.

I bought a Comet

For you to ride

I bought it for you to ride

Into your next spring

And

Oh, you diiiid

And Ohhh did you ride allot

In to new fallen

Snow

I bought you red ribbon

Why you say?

Oh so you knew which day it was

Today!!

You could wrap it up

In red red red red ribbion, I’d say

And there you stood

Barely 18, dressed in all good

So I bought you a family, house, car, love and respect

Were no too far..away

Away ohhh

I bought you a comet… please say you’ll stay for a while, longer my doll…

Thanks, is all I said

When the man came

to be sure I was,

dead..

But when he kicked my body

I leapt up and headed to the door

With or without what you’d think

Life anymore……

Of life

I spent all I had when I was left for dead

So let me know

How is it being still alive

In the glow

In the glow….

If you’ve seen the terrific film, the Whale, you’ll know hat I am about to say. I will explain if you have not, as yet. I heartily recommend you do, but be sure to have a box of tissues within reach.

The protagonist I think you’d say is an obese professor, wheel chair bound due to his enormity and swollen body. He teaches a writing class, online, to a bevy of aspiring student writers. They write and submit essays and he reads and edits same, until at one moment when he’s had enough. In his final online class, in a fit, he demands the students write something honest instead of going through the dubious process of writing and rewriting the essay multiple times which will have eroded the original essay submission into something not of their own. Finally some do just that and he is pleased.

I CLEARLY understand that process. I’ve written 3 novels (and a lot more as my website displays). The novel process bred multiple, some furious, arguments via multiple editors. Editing IS important. TO A POINT! Not to the point your words are unrecognizable. As such to your story. But the novels are my own! They are HONEST. That in itself is a success to me.

If any of you are writers/authors etc I’d suggest you listen to good qualified (editors) advice. Then be sure it’s your writing, your vision/voice not there’s.

In 1969 (yes, there was that year at one time) I was hired by a major Photography publication to write an article about an aspiring photographer and his ” Shoestring photography” studio in the East Village of NYC. I submitted my article with title as such. It was rejected with commentary in the margins.

I’m a New England Prep School brat. The school essentially was a great blend of the essences of Animal House and Dead Poets Society. But rest assured we did know how to write. My kind but direct mother(a wordsmith, a grammarian, with an excellent and extensive vocabulary and also made certain her children did as well) was also a very- well -respected -editor for several major publishing houses in NYC. I enlisted her help just to be sure I wasn’t missing something on the rewrite (yes, perspective is -my favorite word in the English language) . We massaged the article and I submitted it. They accepted it and sent me a very welcome and needed check for 150 bucks. So at that point I became officially a professional writer. One problem. Yup, I could hardly recognize the article.

My work is my own and my own voice. I do not write to the tried and true commercial models that are out there. I have a reason for this. As a hint and benefit to anyone who has slugged through missive I’ll tell you I do not over -punctuate and in doing so I try to engage the reader. That is make the reading of the work a collaboration between author, story and reader. When It works with the right reader it’s magic.

Thank you for listening/reading etc

Caveat Emptor my friends!

Az

If I could be, 19, again

I think I’d do it all, again

The way it was, way back when

Oh, I think I’d do it allll again

Yet, if I thought it through

I’d have to review

What it was like

Way back when

And then I’d think

Do I really want to repeat?

Or just remember

what it was like,

Way back when…

And live in the time, in just my mind

Again!!!

I always said

I don’t dance in another man’s shoes…

But there have been times, I wouldn’t have minded,

Trying them on!

I’ve sworn to God

And at him too

Both times…

A busy signal, rang true

I’ve leapt over ponds

Of where right was beaten by wrong

Yet I landed flat

Now don’t that beat that?

Now these silly lyrics

My boy, may not make much sense,

They will sometime

In your future! I guess

I’m so cold

My hands, drenched 

In red, 

Not clay

Where my heart is tethered to

I tremble 

My rifle, my crutch

Its bore, empty

As my heart is, too 

And there I rest

In freedoms breast,

And now I die. 

Looking unto the dark

Of a forbidding sky

Rest they say!!

Tomorrow is another day!!

And you’ll be fine to join your company

But then I die

Politely -then I die

With no mercy

But no longer so, thirsty  

The Executioner:

Four seasons of winds

Held in one’s breath

Awaiting its time

To exhale all of its sense

And when it did

Old dull rivers did flow

Barren lands did grow

Calm seas pitched to and fro

Fish leapt unto the morrow where calm once held

Old lives, once thought gone

But now began to glow

So who am I?

To record such deeds

Of earthy movements set upon those in need

I am the man of rightful calling

Meant to kill all, with no remorse Before the morning

How’s that Edgar??

Two old books sat on a shelf

One said hey you, is this all there is? Is there nothing else?

All my pages, tattered,

My binding, weak and cracked

I don’t think anyone wants us anymore,

Just to let you know we’re two-old hacks!

Yes, the other did respond

It’s true what you say

Our time has sped away, and we’re left here to decay

But….

But- what, my ageless hard –copy- friend. But what is it you say?

We are still here

And reign on the top shelf too

But- below, on lower shelfs; our once supposed replacements strewn in piles of floppy discs,

Left helpless to revel themselves. But our pages still are set free.

You see!

Ah yes, I do see what you say.

So true, for all which has come after too

Cranky hard disks, and flash drives soon. I think I’m happier now, up on the top shelf, rubbing covers with the likes of you